Coke in a Can (Blog #337)

Leave a comment

This afternoon I got out of the house to go to Tractor Supply. Our dog, Ella, is just about out of glucosamine chews, and other than the fact that Dad’s in the hospital, this is apparently the most pressing concern for our family, our dog’s arthritis. Yesterday, in the midst of being overwhelmed with Dad’s issues, Mom said, “You could get some glucosamine at Walmart, but you’ll have to check the back of the bag to make sure it’s for the right-sized dog, and I don’t know how much Ella weighs, maybe fifteen, maybe seventeen pounds because we’ve been feeding her more, and things would probably be cheaper somewhere else, if you could buy in bulk, if they even make glucosamine in bulk, and–” I said, “Mom, relax. I’ll take care of it.”

Well, I guess everyone was getting out of school or work this afternoon, since it took fifteen minutes for me to get from my driveway to the nearest stoplight, six blocks away. Finally I thought, Fuck this. My sister has an Amazon Prime account, and turned the car around. (Mom, Amazon is the world’s online shopping mall. Amazon Prime lets your order anything from dildos to dog food and have it delivered for free to your doorstep in two days–guaranteed.) So everyone can stop worrying about Ella’s stiff hips–her glucosamine should be here Sunday.

If only all of life’s problems were so easy to solve.

Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I next went to the Department of Motor Vehicles. I noticed a few days ago that I don’t have current proof of registration for my antique car, Garfield. Honestly, in the twelve years that I’ve had the car, I don’t ever remember having this. Since you don’t have to renew antique tags on a yearly basis (or ever), I thought, Maybe I don’t need proof of registration. But what happens if I get pulled over? Anyway, I wanted to find out. But when I stepped inside the DMV, there must have been fifty people inside, and every one of them was in line in front of me. Again I thought, Fuck this, and turned around.

Back in my car, I called the DMV. Someone picked right up, and they told me that, yes, indeed I do need a registration (that never expires), and I can get a duplicate one for a dollar. All I have to do is bring in my license plate number. Y’all, I can’t tell you how glad I am that I’ve never been pulled over in Garfield. Apparently I’ve been breaking the law for up to twelve years. Now I feel like such a rebel.

To anyone who’s attracted to bad boys–I’m over here!

This evening I ran a couple errands then called my aunt, who’s staying with my dad at the hospital tonight, to see if they needed anything. She said, “I need a REAL Coke IN A CAN. Not a bottle. A can. It doesn’t even have to be cold.” So that’s what I brought her–three cans of Coca-Cola. Y’all, I don’t know if she’s a caffeine or sugar addict or what, but you would have thought I’d given her a line of cocaine and not just a can of soda. Her eyes were so wide when she popped the top. She said, “Here’s three dollars, and keep the change. IT’S WORTH IT.”

Before I left the hospital, I messed with the dry-erase board on the wall, the board where they write what day it is and who the nurse and doctor on duty are. There was a section at the bottom that asked, “What is your current pain goal?” The answer line was blank, so I wrote, “To not have any.” (Duh.) Then there was a pain-rating scale with five different cartoons. Basically there was a smiley face on one end and a scrunched up, frowny face on the other. Well, all of the faces were bald, so I drew them different hair styles, and one guy (pain level 3-4) even got a top hat.

I don’t know if anyone on the hospital staff will find this funny, but it clearly wasn’t about them.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m ready to call it a day. I’ve felt all right today, but my energy level is still shit. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it could be like this for a while longer–up a little, down a little–until my doctors figure things out. Not forever, but for a while. I figure I can handle anything for a while. Hell, if I can drive a car without proof of registration for twelve years without getting pulled over, surely I’m lucky enough to survive this current storm, to ride it out until the calm returns. And maybe, just maybe, when the calm does return, I’ll celebrate my good fortune by drinking a Coke–from a can.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Normal people don’t walk on water.

"

Such Is Life (Blog #330)

Leave a comment

For the last few weeks I’ve been putting off a project–writing a paper about marketing strategy for the swing dance event I’m working with. I’d planned to do it a couple weeks ago, but then the flu struck and struck hard. Anyway, the event is a few weeks away, so any marketing ideas I have are about to become moot, at least for this year. So today was the day I wrote the paper–I started this evening and worked for six hours on it. I still need to proofread everything, but the paper is done. It’s eleven pages long, almost five thousand words. This is why I’ve been putting this project off for so long–my brain is bleeding.

I just told my friend Matt about how I spent the day, and he said, “Have you blogged yet?” I said, “No.” He said, “Are you going to blog about procrastination?”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

This afternoon I finally heard from the immunologist’s office. They told me what additional bloodwork and tests they need, so next week when I see my internist I’ll be giving more blood. Also, they’re sending me a “new patient” package, and I have an appointment the first week in April to see the immunologist (provided the tests do indeed reveal a problem).

I guess five weeks isn’t that far away, all things considered.

Y’all, I’m completely nervous, worried, and paranoid about what the tests will reveal. I’m already planning my own funeral. (Say nice things about me. Please bring casseroles to my family. My dad likes chocolate cake.) Still, I keep telling myself that whatever is wrong has been wrong for a while, and it won’t do any good to bury my head in the sand or run away from it. Hell, if I can handle being sick, I can handle knowing WHY I’m sick.

So now we wait.

Such is life.

I need to wrap this up. I’m going out of town to a dance tomorrow, and it’s currently after midnight and I still have things to do. I’d like to proof that paper. Also, I’d like to take a shower, since I’m beginning to smell myself. This is one of the downsides to feeling poorly and not having many reasons to get out of the house–you don’t bathe. Frankly, it’s disgusting, but at least no one else is here to smell me. (I’m single.) As my dad says, “Such is life.” You put something off, and then you do it–you’re sick for the longest time, then hopefully you get some answers–you take a shower, or you don’t–you feel the way you feel. If you can, you try to accept life for what it is, with all its imperfections, atrocities, mysteries, and wonders.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward.

"

As the Sun Rises (Blog #327)

Leave a comment

Today I attempted to have a normal day. I got up, fed the dogs I’m taking care of, scrambled myself some eggs. Then I settled into my laptop and answered some emails and worked on a couple side projects. It didn’t take long, however, for me to get overwhelmed. I got an estimate to replace the spark plugs in my car, and that reminded me that I don’t currently have a job. I thought, Maybe I should get one. Then I remembered that I’m still sick, so even if I had a job, I wouldn’t feel like going to it. Then I started feeling like I was completely behind “on life,” so I closed my laptop and tried to take a nap. When that didn’t work, I buried my nose in a book.

This evening I taught a dance lesson for a young couple who’s getting married this summer. As they were swing dancing, I kept sitting down, thinking, How do they have so much energy? Still, it was good for me to get out of the house, make a little money, and feel useful. Plus, it was helpful to be around people. When I stay by myself for too long, it’s easy for me to lose perspective. I start thinking things will never get better, things will never improve. My thoughts spiral down. In the midst of my problems, I forget that the sun comes up each morning.

This is my main challenge when I’m sick, being able to see my way into the future. When I’m well, I’m optimistic. I can think of a hundred ways in which my life could easily improve. But when I’m chronically ill, that optimism wanes. It’s like I get emotionally stuck in the mud. I start thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and I shut down, opting for distraction. I’m not convinced this is the worst thing in the world. Usually when I distract myself I’m still learning. And even if I’m not, who cares? As my therapist said recently, “If your life is such that you’re able to binge watch Netflix without hurting anyone, do it. Be grateful that you can.”

I think a big lesson I’m learning lately is to not try so hard, to sit back and relax, to let my body rest. This is tough for me. I’m a make-things-happen kind of person. I didn’t hear from the immunologist’s office today, and I’m already planning my next phone call or surprise office visit. Still, it does seem that answers often show up when we stop looking for them. This is the balance I’m working on–how much to push, how much to let go.

Mostly I’m simply trying to take things easy and truly be okay with that. Even in my present state, I could fill up every minute of every day with various projects, but I know I’d end up running myself further into the ground. So I’m trying to take it day by day and trust that at some point I’ll be back on track. My therapist says everything happens when it’s supposed to. So for now this is where I am, knowing that just as the sun rises, it never rises before its time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

"

Random Misfirings (Blog #325)

Leave a comment

Today is day eight of the flu, and I feel like I’ve stepped into the eighth circle of hell. Not that things have gotten worse–they haven’t, thank god. But they haven’t gotten better either. Indeed, my symptoms continue to drag on, as I do, from one day to the next. My hips ache. I’m exhausted. I’m cranky. I’m generally not amused.

Last week the check-engine light in my car, Tom Collins, came on, so this afternoon I left the house for the first time in seven days to go to the auto parts store for a diagnosis. (They have a fancy diagnosis machine.) Y’all, I hate going to the auto parts store, since I don’t know shit about cars and am easily intimidated by men who have grease under their fingernails. Well, as if this weren’t enough, probably because of the flu, my brain wasn’t working today. As soon as I walked in the store, some burly dude asked me how I was doing, and I started looking around the entire store like I was on Candid Camera. “Uh–good,” I said. “How are YOU?”

It was worse than an awkward first date.

Next I started digging through my pockets for I-don’t-know-what and trying to explain my problem, but all I could manage was, “Car. Engine light.” Well, thank god, the guy figured it out. The next thing I knew he hooked up his handheld diagnostic machine to Tom Collins and had an official diagnosis–random misfiring. “What’s that mean?” I said.

“You probably need to change your spark plugs,” he said.

“What do I need to change my spark plugs?”

“New spark plugs. A wrench.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Fifteen minutes later I was back home at my parents’ kitchen table with six shiny new spark plugs and a healthy dose of optimism, Googling what to do next. Well, the internet said changing spark plugs in a Hyundai Santa Fe is a teensy bit more complicated than the guy at the store indicated. Like, you have to take the engine apart. Like, one guy on YouTube spent an hour-and-a-half trying to disconnect a single hose. (One hose!) Like, most people go to the dealership and drop a few hundred bucks to have them do it.

Shit.

Thankfully, my father stepped in. Apparently he’s got “a guy” who works on cars, so he called him, and the guy’s supposed to take a look at Tom Collins tomorrow. I can’t tell you how much this overwhelms me. I really don’t handle things well when I’m sick. (Don’t let the calm exterior fool you. I’m basket case inside.) Of course, my parents know this about me. When my dad got off the phone with his car guy, he looked at me and said, “Don’t worry.”

After all of that excitement, I took a nap. Now I’m in the living room trying not to compare myself to the Olympic athletes on the television. Like, that’s a nice gold medal you’ve got there, buddy, but I live with my parents and do my own laundry. Mostly I’ve been thinking about the way an illness can sweep into your life and erase days off your calendar. All of a sudden you’re flat on your back–your life stops–and yet the rest of the world spins on. I suppose this happens to all of us, these random misfirings. One day everything is going your way, and the next you’re in need of a tune-up. As ever, I’m trying to be patient, ever hopeful that both Tom Collins and I will back on the road again soon.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

"

Denial Will Get You Through the Night (Blog #315)

Leave a comment

Today I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted, nauseated, and cranky. (Leave me alone.) I have a headache. I can’t tell you how much I want to feel like myself again. I’m fed up with being sick, with whatever this is. As Chris Rock says, “I’m tired of this shit–tired, tired, tired.” I give up. I cry uncle.

Also, I don’t know what to write about.

Earlier today I read about coping mechanisms–perfectionism, staying busy, drinking yourself under the table every night of the week and twice on Fridays–things like that. One coping mechanism that caught my attention, probably because it was used as an example, was denial. You know denial. It sounds like, I don’t have a problem, It won’t happen to me, and No, my son’s not gay, he just tweezes his eyebrows every morning and spends his afternoons shopping for Judy Garland memorabilia on eBay. (Don’t all boys?) Anyway, the book said that coping mechanisms like denial aren’t all-bad. Like, if you’re in miserable job or horrible marriage, don’t ignore the facts forever. But if you’re simply not ready to turn your life upside down this red-hot minute, grab a tub of ice cream and watch Sleepless in Seattle. In other words, denial won’t get you through the rest of your life, but it will get you through the night.

And don’t worry–your problems will still be there in the morning.

This is what I’m finding. No problem goes away until it’s fully acknowledged and dealt with. Honestly, I think that’s part of the reason I’ve been so worn out these last few months and why this blog has been so emotionally draining since its inception. It takes a lot to be vulnerable every day, to sit with all your good and bad memories, to really get honest about the deep waters stirring in your internal well. Seriously, I don’t recommend it, since most days you feel like crying, but you’re also afraid to because–What if I never stop? You think, I’m not sure this well has a bottom.

Personally, that’s what I’m not sure about. I believe I heal a little bit every day–at least on the inside–but we’re talking about over thirty years of memories and emotions here, and everything all jumbled altogether. Some days it’s like a tornado whirling inside, and you never know what’s going to be spun out. But I’m trying to trust that what needs to come up will come up when it needs to. This, of course, requires patience, and if I haven’t said it before–I hate that.

In addition to trying to be patient with my emotional body, I’m also trying to be patient with my physical body. I’m still waiting on the immunologist to call, and I go back to my internist in two weeks. Today I’ve been worried about my lethargy and malaise. I guess at some point I’ll need to do something about it. Like, I might have to take shots, change my diet, or put something on my skin. Even though I don’t have an official diagnosis or prescription yet, I’m sure there are some things I could be doing now. Like everyone else in America, I could always eat better. But tonight I had tacos and denial for dinner. I told myself, I’m fine–I’ll deal with whatever it is later.

Honestly, that’s all I can give myself at the moment–a break. A break from trying to figure everything out. A break from having to try so hard in the first place. A break from needing to be perfect. A break, I’m learning, is no small thing to give yourself. After all, you can’t spend every moment of every day in your deep waters. You have to come up for air occasionally.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

No emotion is ever truly buried.

"

Changing for the Better (Blog #302)

Leave a comment

Well, Daddy is worn out. I guess it’s “whatever is wrong with my body.” I’m trying to be patient. This morning I found out the referral my doctor sent to the “immunologist” has been received. I say “immunologist” because Google says he’s actually an “infectious disease specialist.” Personally, I don’t think this title instills calm in a patient. A paranoid patient like me, that is. All day I’ve been thinking, I probably have a rare African virus–something I caught from a mosquito. Go ahead and put me in quarantine. But back to the referral. “It’s on his desk,” the lady who answered the phone said. “It can take a few weeks for him to review, then his nurse should call you. Currently, we’re booked until March.” My shoulders caved in. I said, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.”

After I got off the phone, I realized a couple months really isn’t that long to wait for someone as smart as this guy is supposed to be. A relative recently waited six months to see a specialist, so March is better than July. Anyway, all I can do is see what happens, rest as much as possible until it does.

As part of the marketing job I’ve taken on recently for a large dance event, I’ve spent a lot of time this week on the phone, interviewing people about their experiences in the dance world. What works for you? What doesn’t work for you? What are you pissed off about? So far, this has been a fascinating journey. Everybody–everybody–has a story, and they’re usually willing to share it if someone will listen. That being said, it takes a lot of energy to listen, to let someone else unload their ups and downs on you. Plus, it’s not easy to stay focused, to stay present with someone else. More than once I’ve caught myself thinking about dinner and had to say, “Wait–could you back up?” Seriously, I’m convinced therapists earn every dollar of what they charge.

This evening I drove my aunt to get her hair cut, since I knew where we were going and she doesn’t like to drive at night. Well, first of all, she got a spunky new do. But then we went out to eat at Chili’s, and that’s where things really got interesting. “I ate there a while back, and my waiter was really cute and probably gay, she said. “So let’s go see what we can find out.” Y’all, this is my seventy-year-old aunt, trying to hook me up.

“Okay, I’m in,” I said. “Hell, even if he’s not there, I like their fried chicken.”

Well, whoever this fella was, wasn’t there. (Oh well.) But the fried chicken was. (Yippee!) Plus, another gay guy ended up being our waiter. (He was pretty cute, but kind of young.) My aunt said, “So you have a–what’s it called?–gay-dar?” I said, “Well, yeah. Some people show up on it more readily than others, but when a boy in Crawford County wears jeans that are tight from top to bottom and shimmies every time he sets an appetizer on the table, it’s not rocket science.”

After we each had a glass of wine, my aunt started flirting with our waiter. “This is my nephew–Marcus,” she said, holding her arms out toward me as if I were the prize on a game show. Like, Behind door number one is Marcus Coker, a middle-aged man from Van Buren, Arkansas, who still lives with his mom and dad! Anyway, then she proceeded to talk about her haircut, about how when you get older EVERYTHING starts to sag, so you have to keep your hairline shorter. “People look where your hairline stops,” she said as she pointed to the sides of her face. Our waiter said, “You do have nice apples.”

Later I had to explain to my aunt that apples were cheekbones. She said, “OH! I thought he was talking about my boobies.”

I’m seriously not making this up. (Welcome to my family.)

Now it’s almost eleven. I’ve been typing for just over an hour. And I don’t know if it’s how my body feels, the running around, the wine, or what. But I’m honestly done. Daddy is done. Earlier my nephew and I played this game where we buried each other in pillows. At one point I was all covered up, and he turned the lights off and said, “Good night.” I thought, Don’t tempt me–I could straight-up pass out this very instant. I guess when I don’t feel well I’m always thinking a day could be better than it was, better than it is. But the truth is, despite my low energy level, today was a great day. Maybe, just maybe, it was a great day because of my low energy level. I told my therapist recently that when I’m sick, I’m kinder to myself and the world around me–I’m a better listener–a better understand-er. Of course, I want this thing to go away. I believe it will. But I know it’s changing me and changing me for the better, so I can’t hate it. I don’t think you can hate anything that makes you love more.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."

What Interests Me, What Interests My Body (Blog #291)

Leave a comment

It’s two-thirty in the morning, and I’m not sure how the day got away from me. Well, yes I am. Dad and I watched a documentary about Robin Williams, and I finished reading a book about meditation then made further progress in one about figuring out the most important thing you can do every day. (I’m in the middle of the book, so I still don’t know what that thing is, but I’m thinking, Breathe–breathe is the most important thing I can do every day.) Currently I’m propped up in my waterbed, which is not an easy thing to do. I feel like I’m going to fold in on myself, like a jackknife, any minute now. But at least it’s warm here. I love it. It’s like a full-body heating pad.

Winter, winter, go away.

I’ve blogged a number of times about the idea that the body can release stress and trauma through shaking or quivering. This is a process that happens naturally in many mammals, but humans often intellectually shut it off or aren’t aware they can access it. Anyway, there are some exercises, called trauma release exercises or TRE, that encourage shaking, and I’ve been working with them lately. (I’ve blogged about this most recently here.) Today I watched a video about trauma release exercises that said at first you have to go through this whole setup to fatigue your muscles and start them quivering (what a funny word), but after a while it doesn’t require much. This has been my experience. Sometimes my legs will start shaking with minimal encouragement–even when that’s not my intention. Not just randomly, like a seizure, but like if I’m doing yoga or some other stretching.

Today my legs started vibrating while I was reading in bed. I had them propped up a certain way, which I guess put tension on my adductors, and bam! All of a sudden it felt as if I was lying on one of those vibrating beds at a cheap motel. Not that I’ve ever done that. So I just let my body do it’s thing from the waist down and kept reading from the waist up. (Why not multitask?) Later I watched a video of someone else experiencing TRE, and I noticed that whereas only my legs jerked, their entire body jerked about, like a Pentecostal on the floor. (It really was fascinating to watch. Next time I’m breaking out the popcorn.) Anyway, I started comparing myself. I thought, It’d be really nice for MY back to vibrate like that. Maybe it would help my headaches. Am I broken from the waist up? Is something wrong with my back-shaker? Do I need to put another quarter in this thing?

For Christmas my friend Matt gave me an Amazon gift card. Talk about the perfect thing. You can buy everything (from A to Z) there. Plus, this boy loves to read–real books, digital books, you name it. And Amazon has them all. So this evening I went through all my Amazon wish lists, sifting through hundreds of books I’ve marked as interesting over the years. Whenever a title jumped out as “still interesting,” I jotted it down, along with the price. I knew I could buy several things, but I’d still have to think about it. When it was all said and done, there were several “serious” books and several “fun” books, including an out-of-print, limited-edition collection of dance photographs I’ve been wanting for over a year but haven’t been willing to “splurge” on. Well, I finally decided, Tonight’s the night. I bought all the fun books. I mean, I’m up to my ears in serious reading material, and–what the hell!–it’s Christmas.

Thanks, Matt!

As I scanned through my Amazon wish lists, I noted several books that I’m honestly not interested in anymore. Only a handful of them seem currently fascinating. I try to trust this. Sometimes I grit through a book because I “should” and am usually disappointed by the last page. What a waste of time, I think. But when a book seems fascinating from the get-go, when I’m actually enthusiastic about reading it–those are the books that make the biggest difference, the ones that stick with me. Joseph Campbell says, “Follow your bliss,” and I’m realizing you can’t fake your bliss. You can’t fake what excites you, or even what interests you. This applies to little things like books, as well as big things like work and sexuality.

You’re either into something or you’re not.

My friend that I had dinner with last night said she really believed the body had its own mind, its own wisdom. So I’ve been telling myself tonight that my body knows more about healing than I do. If it wants to shake its legs and not its shoulders, there’s probably a good reason for it. Maybe it wants to work on issues at the base before it moves higher. Either way, like me and some of those books on my wish lists, at this point in time, it’s simply not that interested. Maybe it will be interested in “shaking loose” other areas later. So I’m trying to be patient, trying to trust both my body and its inner compass, trying to let this mystery unfold one page at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them. 

"

The Internet, My Ass, and Other Things That Drag (Blog #283)

Leave a comment

Currently it’s seven in the evening, the weather outside is cold and wet, and my internet speed is dragging ass, as am I. That being said, things could be worse. Things could always be worse. On the upside, I just took a shower and actually shaved my face. Please alert the media. The biggest news, however, is that I’ve lost weight. A while back I blogged about letting go of the idea that I’d ever be 180 pounds again, that I’d ever lose those last three pounds. Well, since the holidays I’ve been doing “what the hell ever” with my diet, meaning I’ve been eating peanut butter out of the jar. So I’ve been assuming that I’ve been gaining weight, not losing it. But when I got on the scale today, there it was–180 pounds exactly. Go figure.

Of course, my first thought was, Wouldn’t 175 be nice?

Aside from noticing that I’m never quite satisfied, I’ve been thinking that sometimes you just have to stop trying so hard. This is difficult for someone like me, someone who considers himself a do-er, to do. However, along those lines, I’m giving it a shot today. In terms of my diet, I just ate some more peanut butter (while giving my body the silent directive, Let’s metabolize!) In terms of my physical health, I’ve stuck to last night’s decision to stay off the internet, to stop looking up my symptoms and home remedies. Just be sick, Marcus. Just let your ass drag.

I just paused to back up tonight’s progress, and my internet is so slow that it took ten minutes to save and reload. Seriously, this is worse than dial-up. I feel like I’m in high school again, downloading pictures of Scott Wolf and Leonardo DiCaprio to my A drive. (A drives are what old computers used for 3.5″ floppy disks and not a sexual euphemism, Mom.) Anyway, clearly the universe is out to teach me patience–through my physical body, through my circumstances (I’m living with my parents!), through the damn internet. I guess it thinks I need help in this area.

But what American doesn’t?

Now I’m restless, ready to be done with this, go eat some more peanut butter. Maybe talking about patience isn’t the way to acquire it. I keep thinking about what to say next. Last night I watched a Netflix documentary called Holy Hell, about a religious cult led by an abusive, Speedo-wearing, former-porn-star homosexual. Y’all, one of his “disciples” made him a fruit salad–every morning–that looked like The Last Supper or something similar–as an act of service. For over twenty years, this man was able to convince hundreds of adult men and women that he was a divine messenger–like Jesus. And I have trouble getting a dozen people to like my status on Facebook.

Obviously I’m doing something wrong.

I’m not sure how this cult story fits into tonight’s blog, but I’ve been thinking about all the crazy things people think, do, and get themselves involved in. Personally, I’ve never joined a cult, but I have joined some internet forums that are pretty far out there, gone to a few weekend retreats about “energy healing” that would raise some eyebrows. Just with respect to my recent sinus infection, I’ve tried (and blogged about) a number of “crazy” treatments. I plan to try more before the week’s over. Thankfully, I don’t catch much flack for most of what I do, but whenever I do catch flack, here’s what I think about it–If you were in my shoes, you’d understand.

Along these lines, Byron Katie says that we are all believers and have to act out of our beliefs. For example, if you had a sinus infection and believed you had to do something about it, you’d be all over the internet. Or if you felt lost and believed some guy meditating in a Speedo could lead you to God, you’d follow him and make him a fruit salad every day. Likewise, if I believed what you believed, I’d do whatever it is that you’re doing–worrying about my finances, arguing with my partner, getting Botox, whatever.

Patience is about acceptance.

This is something I think about a lot, beliefs and what comes from believing them. Like, I know I can cause myself a lot of grief if I believe that I need to weigh less than I do in this moment or that things in my life need to move faster than they are. That second one is a big hang-up for me–I always think the internet, my ass, and even the universe are dragging along. Ultimately, I think patience isn’t so much about endurance, gritting your teeth and waiting for whatever it is to happen. Rather, I think it’s about acceptance, realizing that you’re pushing against the entire universe if you want right here, right now to move any faster or be any different than it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can be more discriminating.

"

Me, My English Teacher, and Nancy Byrd Turner (Blog #282)

Leave a comment

It’s nine in the evening, and I’m finally sitting down to blog. I’ve been putting it off for a couple hours now, distracting myself by scrolling through social media and looking up rare sinus-related diseases on the internet. I’ve got to stop doing this, since it only takes about two seconds for me to convince myself that I’m “histamine intolerant” or “magnesium deficient” or that I have mold and moss, like the kind you see on the north side of trees, actually growing inside my head. Rather than read a book or watch a comedy special on Netflix, this is how I’ve decided to entertain myself until I see the doctor next week, by turning every health problem I have into a conspiracy theory that only I and the world-wide web can unravel.

I know–I could use a new hobby.

Earlier this week I spoke to my friend Marla, who was recently sick with the crud, maybe the flu. She’s better now but said there was a point when she just gave in to the illness. So I’m thinking of doing the same thing, saying, “Fine. You win. I quit.” I mean, it’s not like I haven’t tried or put up a good fight. I’ve made some progress. I’m better than I was. But I’m not myself. And surely there wouldn’t be any harm in spending a few days in bed, at least until I can see someone with a medical degree, throw all my vitamins and herbs down on their table, and say, “Here–this is your problem now. You figure it out.”

This afternoon I had coffee with my friend Lorena and told her that one good thing that was coming out of my being sick for so long was that I’m developing both patience and empathy. Like, one day I’ll be able to look at someone else who is overwhelmed and discouraged by their situation and say, “Hang on. Things will turn around for you one day. I promise.” Honestly, I hate this. I mean, patience and empathy are fine characteristics to carry around in your back pocket–I think you should have them–but I hate that, like a good husband, they’re so damn hard to acquire.

Can I get an amen?

Looking at the picture of Lorena and me, I’m thinking I need to shave my face. But this is another thing about not feeling well–shaving, or even taking a shower, feels like a daunting task, something I need to talk myself into, something I should get a gold star for after I finally do it. Like, Look over here, World–I bathed! I haven’t always felt this way about basic hygiene, but it’s amazing how “one little infection” can drop you to your knees and lower your standards. All of a sudden the word “accomplishment” has a very different meaning than it did before. It’s like you’re two-years old again, proud of yourself for, I don’t know, putting on pants.

I told my dad all this earlier, about how cleaning up felt like such a big deal. Currently he has a cold, but even when he feels well, I think he only showers once or twice a week. He said, “Just wait until you get thirty or forty more years on you, son.”

This is what passes for a pep talk in my family.

When I was in high school, I had a dictator for an English teacher–Mrs. Shipman. (I mean dictator as a term of endearment.) She used to interrupt us while we were praying–talking to the god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob!–in order to correct our grammar. Talk about someone who means business. Once she hunted me down in the lunch room to let me know that I’d misabbreviated “etcetera” as “ect.” instead of “etc.” in a party invitation I sent home with her son. I can still remember her finger pressing into my shoulder, the way she leaned over me as I was eating my Lunchables, the way I broke into a sweat. Honestly, I think it was overkill, but I’ve also never made the “ect.” mistake again.

Anyway, Mrs. Shipman made us memorize poems, and a few of them have never worked their way out of my brain, a fact I’m actually grateful for. One of those poems, by Nancy Byrd Turner, goes like this–

Courage has a crimson coat
Trimmed with trappings bold,
Knowledge dons a dress of note,
Fame’s is cloth of gold.
Far they ride and fair they roam,
Much they do and dare.
Grey-gowned Patience sits at home,
And weaves the stuff they wear.

Now it’s ten o’clock, and I’m ready to call it a night, at least wrap this up so there’s nothing else I “have” to do until tomorrow. I’m thinking of curling up in this chair with a hot cup of herbal tea and reading a book or watching a comedy special on Netflix. I’m telling myself, No more internet searches regarding your health, Marcus. No more playing medical detective. This is me giving in, if only for a night. This is me acquiring patience–grey-gowned, anything but sexy, necessary patience.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

"

All The Pieces for Healing (Blog #281)

Leave a comment

Yesterday when I rinsed out my sinuses, something new came out–a clear blob, about the size of a dime, with the consistency of a jellyfish. That’s peculiar, I thought. A quick Google search revealed that it may have been–possibly–something called biofilm, a protective coating sometimes formed by harmful bacteria that makes getting rid of them difficult. A bacterial condom, if you will. In my nose. The body is such a mystery. Anyway, whatever that thing was, I’m glad it’s not inside me anymore. This is how my grandpa used to feel about farts. “More room on the outside than there is on the inside,” he would say.

Last night I went to bed at two in the morning but lay awake for over four hours, part of the time watching Netflix, but mostly wondering why I wasn’t tired. Maybe I’m feeling better, I thought. Maybe I’m feeling worse. Finally, I decided it was because I forgot to take Benadryl, something I’ve been using lately to help with allergies, but only at night because it makes me drowsy. I hope I’m not becoming addicted, I thought. But then I got out of bed, tossed back a couple pink antihistamines, and was out before I knew it–until two this afternoon.

Today I ran some errands and ended up buying two new herbal teas. This is something I’ve been doing lately, trying different teas to hopefully boost my immune system, decrease my allergies, and heal my sinuses. I’ve inadvertently started a collection. I’m one of those people. (Shit.) So far, I’m not sure the teas are making a difference, but at least they taste nice enough and have fewer calories than alcohol. That being said, they are also significantly more boring, by comparison. I mean, when was the last time a warm cup of dandelion tea got anyone laid? (Tequila makes my clothes fall off, Mom.)

Well, actually scotch, but I digress.

Earlier this week I finished the two-thousand-piece puzzle my family started working on over the holidays. Considering that my nephews were turning the house upside down and the fact that my sister found a couple pieces in the pockets of my mom’s housecoat, I kept thinking I’d get to the end of the puzzle and find pieces missing. But that wasn’t the case. All the pieces were there. Everything came together. (Miracles never cease.)

Isn’t it gorgeous?

Last night while meditating I decided to start thinking of my body as strong, even when I don’t feel well. My logic for this is that even though I’ve been having significant allergy and sinus issues these last few months, there are hundreds of problems I don’t have. Like, I don’t have boils, leprosy, or diverticulitis, to name a few examples. Whenever I get a cut, my body heals it. Likewise, it fights off numerous infections and neutralizes various threats every day, largely without my help. So I’ve got to assume it’s doing the best it can, that eventually we’ll get things figured out.

With this new attitude in mind, I’ve been more optimistic today. Next week I’m seeing a new medical doctor, and I plan to look further into alternative therapies, things like acupuncture. I’m actually excited about finding an answer, getting myself back in tip-top shape. My retired psychologist friend Craig says that every piece of a puzzle is important, that there are no unimportant pieces. I guess for a while it’s felt like some of my pieces were missing, like I’m an incomplete puzzle. But I’m starting to believe that all the pieces for healing really are here, it’s just a matter of putting them together in the right order and of being patient, trusting that all things are worked out in their own time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

"